


The Wacky Molestation Adventure Continues

by TweekXCraig



Category: South Park, South Park RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:56:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TweekXCraig/pseuds/TweekXCraig
Summary: Tweek is the dutiful watch guard of his village and Craig might just be bothering him on purpose.Based off of the Wacky Molestation Adventure Episode.





	1. The Logical Thing To Do

_This is the beginning of a long winter_ , Tweek thought desolately to himself, shivering under the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders. He made a mental note to talk to Stan about provision scavenges to ensure that everyone in their village would make it through the coming months. Last winter had been had been especially brutal and Tweek wasn’t sure if they could survive another hit like that. Not without having to ask _them_ for help. Those assholes always seemed to have it all together, showing off a structured society and well-kept appearances. His fingers clenched in subconscious anger and he let out a puff of warm air before picking up his binoculars and doing another perimeter check. He stood up, dropping the handmade blanket onto the ground, and walked around the roof of Treasure Cove Elementary, wary of the weak spots and areas that had rotted away over the years.

Once he knew that the coast was clear, Tweek returned to his previous position and grabbed his mug of herbal tea that Wendy had slid him before he had headed out on his shift. It gave him a little extra warmth knowing that she went out of her way for him, but that’s just how Wendy was. She was a dutiful matriarch to their village, leading and caring for them like they were all one big happy family. Tweek still appreciated the gesture, though, knowing that she had her hands full with the new baby. He had stopped in at Stan and Wendy’s to get his briefing before his shift earlier and got his first formal introduction to the newest member of their community.

He had been greeted with dark brown, doe eyes, and jet black hair already sprouting in soft tufts from her head as their baby girl slept soundly, strapped firmly to her mother’s chest. Wendy must have sensed a snowy winter herself, because she was already surrounded by a pile of handmade blankets. She claimed it was just a by-product of the "wasted" time that Stan had made her rest for after having their daughter. Tweek secretly agreed with Stan that she needed the time off but kept it to himself as she reminded him to stop by the kitchen on the way out. He knew she’d have a meal and something warm to take with him before his shift. Then she’d give give him a hug that made his stomach twinge, just like her hugs always did. They always gave him that feeling of a memory he couldn’t quite reach. He had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the Long, Long Ago.

Tweek tapped his fingers against the mug and tried to push back the Long, Long Ago memories. He liked to pretend this was the way life had always been; that this was the way it was supposed to be. It was hard to do sometimes. Every time he went into Stan’s office, he was always bombarded with paintings of the Before and the Long, Long Ago. It was always a bitter reminder of why they were here and who was to blame. Stan always justified those paintings, claiming that it was a reminder of their mistakes and a promise to never let them occur again. Still, they always gave Tweek a heavy stomach. He had a tendency to beat himself up over his mistakes instead of learning from them.

A flash of movement on the street had him whipping his head around, binoculars flying up to his face so fast, he almost jabbed out his good eye. He crept to the edge of the building, stepping around a rotting section of wood and stared unblinkingly at the direction the movement had come from. Through his magnified vision, he saw the source of movement clearly. It was him again. Tweek narrowed his eye and watched the familiar troublemaker for any further actions.

As per usual, though, the boy just slowly made his way to the line. He was intriguing to Tweek; he looked more like a member of their village than the other side’s town. He was unkempt and skinny, but still had a face that kept Tweek staring. This time, he didn’t stop a few feet back like normal. He kept inching towards it, looking up like he knew Tweek was there. Tweek’s mind began racing; had he overlooked a threat to their society? He had just assumed this kid was messing with him, seeing as he had danced closer to their territory every night for the past two weeks. He was always alone, never causing any trouble. He’d hide, and Tweek knew he thought he was being covert but there was a reason Tweek was the guard dog, and that was because his eye missed nothing. The boy would sit “hidden” behind a corner of a car and pull out his own binoculars, just watching Tweek as Tweek watched him. Tweek usually gave no indications he knew that this stranger was there. He assumed that if the boy had wanted to take action, he already would have.

Now, Tweek’s heart pounded as he wondered if he had misjudged the boy. He could have been plotting something devious, and Tweek had been neglecting to mention it to Stan because he was a selfish dick who liked looking at the boy all night. Stan would kick his ass if they were both still alive in the morning. Tweek pulled the walkie off of his belt, and raised it to his lips, preparing the mayday call when the boy stopped approaching their territory. Instead of crossing the line and starting a parade of shit, he halted and sat down. Tweek dropped his arm and tilted his head in complete confusion.

 _Was this a distraction?_ He thought to himself. Is he just standing here, watching this beautiful boy sit on the ground doing nothing while the rest of the malicious enemies creep through the backdoor and kill his whole village?

 _Sometimes,_ Tweek thought, _this job is way too much pressure._

Kyle had told him he was way too good to ever quit, though.

Every inch of his person knew that what he should be doing was a perimeter check while calling for backup. There should be enforcers investigating this kid before deploying a crew for a border sweep. He _knew_ that’s what Stan would have wanted him to do. But, an awful, nasty, selfish little part of Tweek knew that this kid would get taken and be imprisoned. Or worse, he might run and never come back. So Tweek swallowed his anxiety, and ignored his instincts. The boy sat there for a minute before pulling out his binoculars, pushing them up to his face. He found Tweek in his usual location, awkwardly half-standing, half-sitting on the roof and the boy waved.

 _If this is a diversion tactic, then it's pretty stupid,_ Tweek grumbled to himself.

Still, if anything bad happened, Stan would have his ass framed on his mantle. Tweek’s anxiety started to race the longer the two sat there in this stalemate, watching each other through their binoculars. If anybody passed by, Tweek was fucked, because Stan knows he never misses anything and would know that he let that kid blatantly sit there and taunt them. Then he would be brought before the council and asked a bunch of questions about why he was a traitor to his village and why he was defecting to Fatass’ town and how he could betray his people after all they’ve done for him and it was just _way_ too much pressure. Tweek either needed to get this kid to go away on his own, or let somebody know he was there.

Rationale would say call for ground troops on his walkie and be done with the kid, but rationality just wasn’t something Tweek had a lot of tonight. He sighed, dropping his binoculars and running a hand through his long, greasy blonde hair. He made a mental note to head to the Center Square and get groomed tomorrow before he looked like, what Wendy would call a 'hippie.' Even to the naked eye, Tweek could clearly see the boy still sitting there and he sighed again, making a deal with himself. He would do a thorough perimeter check and when he came back, if the boy was still there, he’d figure out a way to get rid of him.

He did just that and even stopped to get a drink. The lukewarm tea sat heavy in his stomach. It was stupid. It wasn't like he was outright betraying Stan, he reasoned with himself. But he kind of was. He wasn’t reporting a potential threat. This was putting their village in potential danger, and it was just so he could stare at some kid. This wasn’t right. He pursed his lips, pulling his walkie back out of his belt and heading over to the edge.

“Tweek to Command, Tweek to Command, I see a—“ he stopped though, cutting himself off in surprise.

The boy was gone.

“Command to Tweek, Command to Tweek, what do you see?” he heard Kyle’s voice ask, a hint of concern marring his tone.

“Uh,” he paused, not quite sure what to do next. If he said there had been a boy, border control would tighten and he wouldn’t be able to see the boy tomorrow night. _Good_ , he thought to himself, _stop being such an idiot_. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Kyle asked in that voice that made him feel not just dumb, but also nervous.

“Yeah, it guess it was a... raccoon... or something,” he explained lamely.

“Alright, well I’m still gonna send out a squad just to give it a solid once over.”

“Okay, sorry for the false alarm,” Tweek mumbled into the walkie before heading back to his original look-out position.

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He knew his ass would be in Stan’s office first thing tomorrow morning.


	2. A Solid Hesitation

The sun beat down miserably on him, failing to cut through the morning chill. It mocked him with it’s bright and cheery attitude. Incredibly early this morning, a messenger had banged on his door and handed him a note that claimed Stan requested his presence as soon as possible. Tweek swallowed harshly, knowing there’d be quite a few hard to answer, uncomfortable questions fired at him. Tweek never did well under pressure and it would be even worse coming from Stan. After all the man had done to take care of him and his community, lying to him felt like lying to Provider.

When he entered his leader’s home, he was immediately bombarded with a flurry of delicious smells. He wished he wasn’t here on business. Then he could slink into the kitchen and have Wendy sit him at the table and stuff him full of whatever she had concocted that day. Afterwards, she would send him home with a basket of leftovers and a blanket. But no, he was a dumbass and was about to be interrogated about his stupidity. Wendy still caught him on his way up the stairs, giving him a warm smile and sliding a muffin into his hand. He returned the smile and gave another one to the nursing baby in her arm before trudging up to his fate.

When he entered Stan’s office, the leader was looking down at a map, eyebrows drawn and pen tapping against his temple. There were handwritten notes all over it and he seemed lost in thought. He didn’t even hear Tweek enter. Tweek cleared his throat and Stan’s eyes slid up to him.

“Tweek,” he acknowledged him before rolling up the map on his desk and tucking it into a drawer.

“Hi, Stan,” he answered, trying his best to act normal.

It wasn’t like he had anything to hide. He’d done nothing wrong. But he had, his obnoxious self-conscious reminded him, not telling the whole truth was just as bad as lying. There had been plenty of times he could have brought up the boy in the past two weeks, but he hadn’t. And he wasn’t quite sure why.

“How’s the night shift treating you?” Stan asked, lacing his fingers together before popping his back.

“It's alright. I'm just a little tired, y’know,” he laughed in what he hoped was a normal manner.

“You sure the it's not messing with your head at all?’ Stan questioned, one eyebrow cocked quizzically.

“Well, it’s dark, and I can miss things sometimes, but, uh, otherwise, it’s been all good, man,” Tweek laughed again, and the sound choked out of his mouth.

“Tweek, you know you can tell me anything, right? We’ve been friends since the Before Time,” Stan gave a soft smile. 

The whiplash between the good cop, bad cap personas threatened to make him snap.

He looked around the room to collect himself for a moment, but that probably made things worse. The murals glared at him, blaring reminders of the Long, Long ago. It was overwhelming him with thoughts and feelings he usually kept locked up in a box inside of his mind. _The Birth-Givers, Provider, the ‘M’ word, Smiley town._  

It was too much. He began to sweat and shake. Tweek knew that was why Stan had these in here. It's hard to lie to a man when your past mistakes are surrounding you.

“Tweek?” Stan stood up, worry crossing his face. “Are you okay, dude? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, Stan! I’m just tired, and I’m getting read the riot act first thing in the morning after staying up all night protecting my village. Which, is a job I _volunteered_ for, because I care about the people in my community!” Tweek yelled, eyes bugging and arms waving. He probably looked a shade closer to crazy than assertive but he just wanted Stan to stop looking at him like that. “Everything is alright, and if I thought for even one moment that something was putting our village into serious danger, my ass would be right in the middle of it, trying to save everyone!”

Stan’s face dropped and he sat back down, putting his head into his hands and sighing a deep breath. Now it was Tweek’s turn to worry and play twenty questions.

“Stan?” he spoke gently, all the fight gone from him. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just a little cranky. I know you aren’t trying to frame me for treason or anything.”

Stan scrubbed his face with his hands before running them through his shaggy black mane. Finally, he picked his head up. Without the tough guy façade clouding his features, Tweek could see how tired and aged Stan looked. They couldn’t have been any older than nineteen or twenty. Time and dates had little meaning in their society and although they tried to keep track now, they hadn’t been that great back in the beginning. Now they based it solely off of seasons and weather instead of the old methods. Stan looked like he was going on fifty though. He had dark circles, accentuated by deep bags. His eyes looked bloodshot, like he’d stayed up every night since the Before Time worrying. His jet black hair was speckled with strands of gray and worry lines were etched into his face. Leadership had definitely taken it’s toll on his old friend.

“No, Tweek, I’m sorry,” Stan spoke with almost an air of defeat. “I-I’ve just been so stressed out lately. I already have so many people to watch over and protect. Now Wendy and I have a baby, and I just sit up all night scared to death that something is going to happen and I won’t be able to help her or anybody else. I just keep having the same nightmares: no food this winter, or an attack from the other side or a betrayal from within and... it’s just really getting to me.”

Stan drew in a shaky breath, running a calloused hand through his hair again before turning back to look at Tweek, who was at a loss for words.

“I know you would never to do anything to hurt us though, Tweek. You’ve always been so loyal to your village, and to my family,” Stan’s eyes got a little glassy as he spoke earnestly. “You’ve sacrificed a lot for us over the years and I don’t think I can truly ever thank you enough. I know in my heart, if something even had the potential to threaten this village, you would come to me right away. Thank you, dude.”

As Tweek left the Marsh household, basket of goodies and warm blanket in hand, he felt like he had been trampled by a herd of Kindergarteners. He deserved that right now.

After his meeting with Stan, Tweek stopped by the Center Square to get groomed, relishing in the feelings of the pampering luxury before heading home to take a nap. He laid in bed for a good long while though, debating over what needed to be done. He had to put a stop to the mystery visitor, but he feared what everyone would think if he just now noticed this intruder. He figured he’d just have to get to the bottom of this himself.


	3. The Grass is Never Greener in the Other Town

Craig shivered as the wind gave a violent blow and he pulled his hat down tighter on his head. _Cold nights always meant a brutal winter,_ he thought grimly to himself. He forlornly predicted another winter where their town’s residents sat shivering and starving in the dark while their fat ass mayor was camped out his warm home. He would be sitting there eating food they had scavenged for and bossing them around, because according to him, he had all the authority.

He grimaced because it was always nearing the time where everyone desperately fought to be picked to get cleaned up and dressed in thick winter coats and warm fuzzy mittens to be paraded around near the other side’s territory. Sometimes, they were even given things to eat ,but mostly it was just carrying empty shopping bags and fake baby dolls. Real babies didn’t fare very well here and were lucky to make it. The babies that did survive definitely didn’t fit the image that the mayor desired and weren’t allowed anywhere near the other side could see. That’s all the mayor ever cared about; showing off to ‘The Evil Jew King and his Buttwipe Sidekick.’ They were made to look like a perfect, thriving, happy town, but everyone living here was anything but. The only person who was happy was the mayor and even then, with the shit he did, Craig suspected he was miserable too.

Craig supposed that was why he had started doing this. He had heard the Nazi’s commenting a few solstices ago that the watch tower guard was a ‘queer-mo’. They had snickered as they shared a story from  the Oppressed Ages about the guard being with another boy at their school. He knew it was a long shot, but if he could just get someone to trust him, if he could just get an in somehow, then maybe, he might be able to make it. If he could get that guard to trust him, maybe he could go live in Treasure Cove and actually have a life worth living. He had no remorse each night as he inched his way closer to their happy little lives, hiding in plain sight.

His plan wasn’t easy in the slightest, though. When he’d stolen the binoculars from the watch tower, he’d had to watch the next morning as the mayor ordered a guard to beat the young boy who had been in charge of them. As per usual, the Mayor demanded everybody be present for this ‘very important demonstration of what happens when’s you’re a stupid fuck up’ and Craig had sat staring stoically as the boy cried and screamed under the relentless torment. He’d thrown up twice once he was alone, sobbing hysterically and promising himself once he made it over the line he’d tell everyone what really went on in Smiley Town. He had heard tales that Treasure Cove's leader was a kind man; maybe he would come and save everyone here too.

Then came the part where he had to figure out places to hide where he could be viewed by the Other Side but would still be invisible to their guards. The citizens of Smiley Town weren’t allowed anywhere that could even potentially be viewed by Treasure Cove . If he was seen by his town's guards that would be enough to warrant a beating on Cartman Street. He had traded his food for the week with a boy who was selected to be costumed for two days and took full advantage of the ability to walk freely through the streets, scouting out places to hide and memorizing guard rotations. It was actually inanely simplistic and Craig figured that if Treasure Cove had really meant to do them harm, they could’ve destroyed their town years ago.

The only part left of the plan was to figure out what he was going to do with the other side’s guard. He just needed to get this guard to trust him. He knew that first night, when he’d hesitantly tested the waters, seeing if their hawk-eyed guard would leave him be or call out the brute force, that his plan might work. The man had watched him the whole night, but did nothing else. So every night he came back, and every night, they continued their dance. But a new sense of urgency began creeping into his plan. The Mayor was trying to drum into everybody’s heads that their ‘times of misfortune’ were being brought upon them by a curse. He claimed the other side’s Evil Jew King had used his Evil Jew powers and plagued them with a curse that couldn’t be lifted unless they began performing sacrifices, again. The Mayor claimed that this man was no ordinary Evil Jew King though, he was a Ginger as well, and therefore Treasure Cove's leader demanded that a river of blood flow towards his kingdom once a month, or else they would all continue to suffer.

Craig wondered if Smiley Town's Mayor was psychotic or just truly ignorant. The town’s population was already so decimated by hunger, violence, and disease that they wouldn’t make it through a winter’s worth of sacrifices before the Mayor was sitting up in his fancy house all alone, with nobody but himself to bully around. He had to speed up his plan or else he, and everybody he loved would die.

That night, he decided that he might as well take a chance. He was probably going to die anyways.

So, he traded away his costumed days at the end of the month at the market in return for a ‘strong medicinal brew’ which the chemist, Bebe, always insisted healed all ailments. Everyone knew that it really just made you shit your brains out and Craig had the perfect job for this brew. The midnight guard shift attendee always dozed about an hour after he got settled. and Craig used that as an opportunity to sneak up to the tower and add a little bit of Bebe’s brew into his cup.

Craig figured he had thirty minutes to carry out his next bold move, in between the guard’s insides melting, and another guard replacing him. So, he took a deep breath and approached the other side. When his toes touched the Forbidden Line, he stopped, watching as their guard held a device to his mouth, and Craig took a seat, waiting to see if he would be captured or left alone. A small part of him reasoned that prison on their side was probably better than day-to-day life in Smiley Town.

The two sat anxiously watching each other, Craig making sure to check their guard’s position and his own every few minutes. The count in his head told him that his thirty minutes was drawing to a close and he waited to see what Treasure Cove's guard would do next. Finally, the man dropped his binoculars and walked further back on the roof to an area where Craig couldn’t see him. Craig figured that his message had been broadcast clearly: he wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. He stood up, preparing to sneak back to his apartment, stretching out a little. As he was tucking his binoculars back into his coat, he felt a heavy hand fall onto shoulder. The blood in his heart went cold as he looked up at the face standing behind him.

The man was huge, at least a head taller than Craig, who was already quite tall, and had muscles that were easily the size of Craig's head. The other man didn’t have much hair on top of his head, just some blonde tufts sticking up at the top and he had a grin that was almost maniacal. Craig knew who he was right away. This was the Mayor’s right hand man; the guard that was so fearfully spoken of, that just his name alone could make a grown man beg for mercy. People always said that if you saw him, your life was about to end, earning him the nickname the Grim Reaper.

“Well hey there, little feller! What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here right now, heh heh?”

Craig had been caught by Butters and he was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys it's so hard trying to write Butters as a serious bad guy who says 'fellur'. And yes I totally described him as his Professor Chaos alter ego.


	4. The Long, Long Ago

Tweek had a plan.

He had a plan and he was going to stick by it, he sternly reminded himself. This was going to end tonight and then Stan and Kyle would get off his back and he could continue living his peaceful, stress-free life. There was still that selfish little inkling that felt sadness at the thought of never seeing that boy again, but he knew that flicker of sadness would be nothing compared to the monstrosity of overwhelming guilt and grief he would experience if something bad happened to their village because he felt attachment to eye-candy.

 No, that was never going to happen, he reminded himself, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow in determination. This was going to end tonight.

That night, when he reported for his briefing, he put on his best ‘sick’ act before entering the Marsh household. He knew he was a terrible actor, and he knew that Stan did too, but he tried his best to think about things that made him feel sick and soldiered on. He skirted around Wendy, quickly explaining the illness and claiming he didn’t want to get the baby who was peacefully slumbering in a makeshift bed near the entrance to their kitchen. Wendy seemed concerned and he ignored the note of skepticism in her expression, heading up to Stan. He hated to lying to Wendy but she knew he was starting to feel ill by the way she had given him her medicinal brew yesterday so he hoped that bought him insurance for his fib tonight.

When he entered the office, Stan wasn’t sitting at his desk like usual. He was standing in front of a window, staring out of it, body tensed like he was about to enter a battle. Tweek cleared his throat to signal his arrival and felt guilt when Stan turned around, that stress and worry marring his youthful features. He hated making things difficult for Stan, but trouble was just clinging to Tweek nowadays like feathers to a bird. He reasoned with himself that he was really trying to fix things so there should be minimal guilt, but it was hard when he knew that things needed to be fixed because of his actions.

Stan gave his warm, albeit strained, smile and gestured to the chair in front of his desk, letting Tweek know that he was welcome to sit. Tweek did out of politeness but his body felt jittering with anticipation and his legs bounced traitorously.

“Did you get anymore rest after our meeting this morning?” Stan questioned looking at him like a salesman inspecting his product.

“Actually, I needed to talk to you about that,” Tweek began, shaking the nerves off of his words. “I didn’t get very much sleep and I think I’m starting to come down with something. I’m worried I might not be any good tonight.”

Tweek went for sheepish and hopefully ill. Stan gave a little smile, throwing him off a little.

“Even sick and tired you’re still a better watchman than anyone else we’ve got,” Stan chuckled, praising his old friend. “But nevertheless, your health is still important to me. Go ahead and get some rest tonight, I’ll call Jimmy to cover for you.”

Tweek let out a sigh; he hated taking advantage of Stan’s kindness like that.

“But if you’re feeling up to it, we’re having the Autumn Equinox festival tonight, and I’d love to see you there, dude.”

Tweek figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop in and say a few quick hellos. He didn’t get out much these days, always working nights or running odd jobs for Stan and Kyle. He kind of preferred his solitude, though; look at what happened when he simply saw a cute boy.

“Yeah, man. I’ll stop by for a little,” Tweek gave a heartfelt smile before the pair bid farewell and Tweek headed out. Of course, waiting at the bottom of the stairs was a basket and a thermos and Tweek felt guilty; he wasn’t on watch and yet, Wendy still took care of him. When he passed by the kitchen she briefly caught his eyes and gave him a knowing smile before turning back to the boiling pot over the fireplace.

“Hope you feel better tomorrow, Tweek,” she called and Tweek agreed. He hoped he’d feel better by then too.

That night, he changed out of his old, typical hunter green shirt that was done up haphazardly due to missing buttons and opted instead for a worn, black, long-sleeved, tee-shirt Kyle had given him for Winter Solstice a few years back. It was the closest thing to ‘nice’ that he owned and was one of his favorites. He scrounged around his meager kitchen and pulled together a basket of offerings to bring and headed out, throwing on his favorite black cloak.

When he arrived, he was immediately welcome by a plethora of sights and smells. He took a deep breath, enjoying the way cinnamon and spices caressed his nose when he inhaled and listened to the amicable chatter and excited screams of children all around him. He wove his way through the crowd, stopping to say friendly ‘hello’s’ and accepting morsels from people, giving them gifts from his offering basket as well. He spotted Stan, Kyle, and Wendy further up ahead, standing in front of the feast table, precious daughter, Sharon, in Stan’s arms.

When he finally made it up to the feast table, both Stan and Wendy looked delighted to have him there.

“Tweek! You made it, dude!” Stan cried and clapped him on the back, one arm still firmly tucking the baby into his side.

“I would never willingly miss a festival,” Tweek joked.

“It would take a special kind of crazy to miss out on all this free food,” Kyle joked, patting him on the back as well.

“Feeling any better?” Wendy asked, still knowingly smiling.

“Yeah, that tea is always magic,” he thanked.

“Well I’m glad you’re better,” Stan insisted.

“You’re just in time for the Re-telling, too.” Kyle added.

Tweek tried to act excited about the Re-telling, but it was hard. He just hated talking about the Before Times.

Stan stood in the center of the makeshift stage that had been erected in Center Square for the occasion, beckoning his village to gather around him. Tweek watched in amusement as the village children who has spent their entire lives this way eagerly ran to sit at the front, shrieking and squealing with excitement. Wendy stood off to the side with him and Kyle, their daughter nestled into her arms, watching the other children fondly. Tweek could already see a beautiful little girl with big brown eyes and long black hair tied back with ribbons running to sit at the front and watch her father speak in complete awe and wonder.

“Thank you, everybody and hopefully you’re all enjoying this wonderful Autumnal Equinox!” The crowd cheered merrily in response to Stan’s opening statements and he waited patiently smiling until silence overtook them. “Now, as we all know, this summer was prosperous and fruitful for all. I definitely see plenty to eat out there tonight. However, the cold months are coming quicker than we’d all like and I’ve heard concerns expressed about the severity of our winter. I’m going to be posting some sign-ups on the village board for supply scavenges, hunting expeditions, and even some firewood chopping sessions for the little ones. Wendy has also provided me with some times she will be canning and preparing food for storage along with clothing and blanket making meetings. Kyle will also be holding training camps for anybody interested in providing our town with enforcement or security. Additionally, the crops are close to harvest and livestock always needs tending, especially to prepare them for winter survival. If everybody does their part and takes on a little more responsibilities and we work hard now, I’m confident that this winter won’t hurt us.”

The crowd cheered and Tweek heard people discussing how they were going to contribute for their winter preparations. Tweek smiled; their community really was one big family.

“School lessons will be on hold until the end of harvest,” Stan was interrupted by cheers from the children who always got excited every year this was announced. Stan smiled at them and continued, “But your teachers have notified me that they will still be holding class once a week and strongly encourage parents to enforce attendance.” There was a collective ‘Aw!’ from the kids and the laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Finally, before we start the Re-telling, I’d like to introduce you all to the newest member of our family,” Stan’s smile was practically splitting his face in half and Wendy walked next to him, showing off their adorable daughter.

The cheers and calls of ‘Congratulations’ were enough to make Tweek tear up for them and he saw Stan sneakily wipe at his eyes before clearing his throat and getting the mood ready for the Re-telling while Wendy rejoined him and Kyle.

“Thank you all for your kind words. They mean a lot to Wendy and I both. Now, let the Re-telling commence!” The crowd cheered once again and a sheet was raised behind Stan, square with different parts of the story covered until they were told. The timing was perfect, dusk falling rapidly and it was light enough the people could still see, but dark enough the torches surrounding the stage could be lit. Stan was handed a lit torch and he walked to the edge of the stage and knelt down in front of the children, the kids eagerly clamoring to get closest to him. “Now, who here can tell me why we live in our village?” he asked the excited children

“Because we do!” Tweek heard a little boy cry out.

“Excellent answer!” Stan laughed. “Well how long have we been here alone?”

“It was like this yesterday!” One child answered.

“Well what about the day before yesterday?” Stan countered playfully.

“Yeah, that too!”

“Well what about before that?” he asked, standing up and heading back towards the sheet hung behind him.

“You mean, in the Before Time?” one child asked in a shocked tone and all the kids gasped.

“In the Long, Long Ago?” Another little girl questioned.

“Yes, kids, excellent answers. Soon you’ll be smarter than Kyle,” Stan chuckled and everybody laughed while Kyle pretended to be offended making the children giggle.

“Now that’s where our story begins, in the Before Time, during the Long, Long Ago,” Stan held his torch closer to the sheet so it was visible to the crowd, removing the first piece of cloth and unveiling a portrait of a family. “Way back, in the Long, Long Ago, we all used to live by the Birth-Giver’s laws.”

Tweek’s heart thumped nostalgically at a fuzzy memory. A woman in a blue dress, white apron tied right underneath her chest, smiling at him warmly and kissing his forehead. A man with curly brown hair and an infectious laugh telling him silly stories before bed. The town was clean and in one piece, he couldn’t remember the name; something to do with a direction, North Side, maybe? The sign was on the other side of town and had long since been painted over by Smiley Town.

“Now these Birth-Giver’s were much different from the parents we have here now,” Stan explained as the children gasped in horror at the picture of the evil Birth-Givers. “They were evil and unfair. The world they had created for us to live in was one of greed, anger, and despair.”

“Yuck!” the kids all booed the Birth-Givers.

“And so, the Fat-Ass came up with a way to have all the Birth-Givers disappear,” Stan’s eyes grew dark when he talked about the mayor of the other side. The picture of his was hilarious, as per usual, and Kyle stifled a laugh at the cartoonish evil mayor. “Now, to do that, Fat-Ass had to use a word, a very illegal word. What’s it called?”

“The Magic ‘M’ Word!” the children called out before all booing and hissing.

“Now after the Birth-Givers disappeared, the rest of the adults in the town disappeared. Now our town is so high up in the mountains and so secluded that we didn’t have many visitors in the Before Time anyways. With the Birth-Givers and the adults gone away, the children were left to fend for themselves. There was no food or water, nobody to take care of them. Now they survived by becoming a community, just like the one we have today. However, the Fat-Ass didn’t believe in the community Kyle and I built; he was evil and selfish. He tried to bully everyone into doing things he wanted by making himself the Mayor of our town. Fearing what the Fat-Ass was capable of, we told whoever wanted to live a happy life to come with us and the town split sides. Those who stayed with Fat-Ass were just as evil as he was and we vowed to protect our community from their evil ways. Now he has lied and stolen and cheated us to build his town over the years but Treasure Cove will always prevail because we’re a family. Everyday our village heals and grows stronger, but we will always remember what happened in the before time and will never make the same mistakes again.”

The crowd echoed the children’s cheers and Stan walked back up to the front of the stage, smiling softly.

While everybody was distracted with the commencement of the feast and tales of times past, Tweek slipped off into the night. He still had a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else watch the season premiere of the Walking Dead? Anybody else need therapy after watching the season premiere of the Walking Dead?


	5. Everybody's a Hero in Their Own Minds

Eric Cartman was not a bad person, at least not in his mind. In fact, he thought he was an incredibly merciful, just mayor of his town. Their dinky little city would have been straight down the shitter years ago if it weren’t for his ingenious leadership skills. It made his blood boil to even think that some of his citizens weren’t grateful for his authority. He could just banish them to Treasure Cove and make them live in squalor with a butt-wipe and Jew king for leaders but that wasn’t very much fun for him. Ever since the end of television and the Internet he needed a new source of entertainment and torturing disloyal citizens was a pretty steady stream.

Some might consider his methods to be unethical, borderline evil, but if it protected his shabby community from the poisonous thoughts he just knew were spilling in from the other side, well, the ends always justified the means. Protecting his empire was his number one goal above all others and he would stop at nothing to continue his legacy. His citizens would respect his authority.

Now, he feared, his town was facing a far greater risk than they could ever imagine. His advisers were warning him of a traitor from within and of potential nefarious plots that the other side was just waiting to exact on his poor, unsuspecting town. He always knew that Stan and Kyle were big, fat cheaters and would stop at nothing to see all of his hard work go down in flames. They had always just been too jealous of his brains and talents.

He would find a way to come out on top, though. He always did; he figured out how to get the birth givers sent away and how to create a successful society, even when Stan and Kyle were constantly trying to bring him down. Sure, he didn’t do a ton of hands on ruling nowadays, but that’s what successful people always do when they get to the top, they hand it all over to their advisers. But right now, Eric knew he was going to have personally step in and take charge so he could lead his people to victory and hopefully wipe out that abomination of a village, Treasure Cove, once and for all. He would not rest until Stan and Kyle were gone for good. Those assholes have ruined his plans for the last time.

That lead him to where he was at that moment, being pulled by his faithful minions in the Mayor Mobile through the streets of his wonderful town. He surveyed his people, all bowing before him and leaned back, smug smile on his face, drinking in their love and adoration. He was such an awesome mayor. The cart hit a pothole and he was jostled around, ruining his moment of smugness and pissing him off royally.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going Asswipes!” he yelled at the two boys pulling the Mayor Mobile and watched as they both bowed their heads and shook.

“We are sorry, our most noble Mayor! Please, may we have your forgiveness?” their voices quaked with fear and Cartman smiled as he relished in the sound.

“I suppose so. You will both receive fifty lashes each and then all will be forgiven. Guards?” he called out to the burly men surrounding his Mayor Mobile, all holding various weapons and looking all too eager and willing to do his bidding. He leaned back, propping his feet up and folding his arms behind his head to take in the show as the young boys cowered and screamed while the guards carried out their punishments.

After the punishments were complete, Cartman surveyed the bloody, shaking boys and smiled softly. “Now I hope you two learned a lesson today. All is forgiven and you may carry on.”

The two picked themselves up and bowed their heads again. “Yes, most noble Mayor. Thank you.”

“My pleasure boys,” he replied, leaning back once more to enjoy the ride. “Always my pleasure.”

Once they arrived at their destination, Cartman stepped onto his throne and mulled over his future thoughts and plans while he was carried into the building.

A hush went through the prison as he entered and he fought back a smug smile to maintain his serious persona. As he approached his most trustworthy and favorite guard he couldn’t help but let a little smugness mar his features, studying his perfect protégé. Butters was a hard nut to crack at first, but underneath the many layers of manners and pussiness, lay a fierce enforcer. He did his job well and showed no mercy.

“Well, hey, Eric!” his fierce sidekick’s face lit up and waved enthusiastically when he saw him approach and Eric sighed and pinched the bridge of nose, closing his eyes and focusing on the task at hand.

“Butters, how many times do I have to tell you, you must address me as “most noble Mayor” when you see me,” he explained in exasperation to his old friend.

“Oh, gee whiz, I’m sorry Er—I mean, most noble Mayor! Don’t worry, I’ll give myself some lashings for that later!” Butters bumped his fists together, eyebrows knitted together in worry.

“Alright, Butters, fair enough. Now tell me about our situation here.”

“Alrighty, most noble mayor! Well, we finally caught that little traitor that’s been sneaking around near the border at night and I’ve been questioning him all day and all night! He kept insistin’ that he wasn’t doing anythin’ bad, but I finally got him. He says that he heard of a plot of invasion by the Evil Jew King and wanted to see if he could find any more information out before coming to you! He was hopin’ for a prize or something!” Butters still knocked his hands together but this time his eyebrows were raised in excitement and he had that stupid little grin on his face that made him look like an overgrown child rather than an angry warrior.

“Very good, Butters! Minions, bring me to see this traitor of our town!” Eric demanded, pointing his scepter towards the room at the end of the hall reserved for the town’s worst ne’er do wells.

“Yes, most noble mayor,” they chorused before continuing onward.

Eric hopped off his throne once they placed him onto the solid concrete of the prison floors and walked forwards, staring through the window into the Room of Doom. His face cracked into a delighted smile upon taking in his latest victim.

Chained to the walls, arms hanging above him while his feet and head hung listlessly towards the ground was an old childhood foe. Craig, he thought bitterly to himself, he always hated that guy. Him and his gang always tried to one up him at school and constantly poked holes in his plans. Well, now look at who the winner was.

He entered the room, proudly drinking in the smell of despair.

“Oh, look who it is! My old pal, Craig! Hey buddy!” he cried out. He walked up to the weakened boy and watched as he attempted to lift his head to stare at Eric. Both his eyes were practically swollen shut and his face was caked in blood, coming from deep wounds from various places on his head. The skin underneath was practically purple with bruising that continued down the rest of his exposed body, mixing with trails of blood. Eric noticed he was even missing some fingers and had some visibly broken bones, standing out from his emaciated frame.

“Oh jeez, you don’t look to good, pal,” Eric feigning concern. “Butters, why don’t you let our old friend, Craig down.”

“Well sure thing, most noble mayor!” Butters replied, taking a key off a large ring on his belt and unlocking the shackles on Craig’s wrists. The boy crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, head bouncing on the concrete floor with an audible thud.

“Now, Craig, Butters here has told me some interesting stuff,” Eric explained walking closer to his childhood nemesis and crouching down in front of his face. “Very interesting stuff indeed.”

Craig gave a raspy gurgle in response, mouth barely opening as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

“I understand you had some information that you withheld from the Mayor because you selfishly wanted to investigate it yourself?” Eric asked rhetorically. “And you poisoned a guard, both offenses punishable by death in our town, Craig. Now this puts me in a terribly tricky position. I am a fair and just leader; I can’t be seen playing favorites with an old friend. People might question my authority.”

Eric reached out a chubby arm, wrapping his fat fingers through the matted, greasy tufts of black hair on Craig’s head. He tightened his grip, yanking hard enough to elicit a tiny whine and pulled Craig’s head up to face him. Midnight blue eyes peered through swollen slits at him, and he saw genuine fear.

“I’m terribly sorry to have to do this Craig, but you’re breaking my balls here,” Eric explained in a very matter-of-fact tone. “But I’m gonna have to schedule a public execution to teach the rest of the citizens a lesson. “This Sunday, at Carousel, you will be executed and your body will be left to rot in Center Square to prove a point to my people. Don’t be a dick, Craig.”

He left Craig’s head fall, smacking against the concrete with a delicious thud. He climbed back onto his throne, feeling a sense of pride and victory wash over him as he pictured Craig’s execution and gave a cheery smile to each prisoner as he passed them.

“Butters, I want a full report of all the information given by the traitor on my desk by tonight,” Eric called out to his faithful guard as he neared the exit of the building.

“Of course, Eri—uh, most noble Mayor!” Butters exclaimed.

“And Butters,” he motioned for the guards to turn him towards his old friend. “Excellent work. I’ve always hated that guy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who has left a kudos or a kind comment! I really appreciate them all and this chapter is for you guys!


	6. Not Much of a Life Worth Living

The night is abnormally cold, the streets seeming to quake with the temperature themselves as Tweek hurried down them and away from the festival. Tweek felt a gust of cold wind blow through the fabric of his thin shirt and gave a shiver, cursing himself for not thinking this far ahead into his plan. His brain felt numb as he ran through everything he was going to do and say, completely consumed in thought. He saw the stand-in guard perched on top of the school and rolled his eyes at what a lousy replacement this guy was.

The guard’s legs were crossed onto of the ledge of the building and his arms were crossed over his chest. Tweek could practically hear that lazy oaf’s snoring from his useless hiding spot. He gave an angry little huff, peeved that he would never be able to report this shoddy guard shift back to Stan but let the tension slide off his shoulders; he had bigger fish to fry at the moment. Besides, this just made his life increasingly easier.

He sat still, watching the line opposite like a hawk, doing perimeter checks from time to time out of instinct. Only once did his replacement awaken, his binoculars having slipped out of his lap and clanging onto the rooftop below noisily. The man jumped up, visibly startled and spun in circles, bracing himself for an intrusion before re-taking his seat and doing a lazy 180 with his retrieved binoculars before lulling back to sleep.

Tweek sat in the cold until rays of warm sunshine broke through the clouds, breaking his trance like state. He stood, shaking the numbness out of his limbs and stretching a few fingers and toes to make sure frostbite hadn’t claimed any victims throughout the night.

Tweek tried to ignore the faint vibe of disappointment running like a sour note through his head. He told himself he was just upset that his plan couldn’t be enacted but deep down, he knew the large majority came from him not showing. He reasoned with himself; maybe he had come earlier and saw that Tweek wasn’t there, prompting him to leave? Maybe he was busy? Or ill? Or maybe he just got sick of looking at him and wasn’t going to bother anymore, Tweek thought desolately. Whatever the case was, Tweek decided firmly, he wasn’t going to give up that easily.

After all, Tweek still had a plan.

~~~  
It was dark, enough that Craig couldn’t make out the rats skittering around on the ground near him. He could feel the rodents sniffing curiously at his crumpled body on the ground, even feeling their teeth when he stayed still too long. Sometimes, Craig worried that he was going blind in the darkness, that his eyes would be out of use for so long that when sunlight finally did stream into his cell there would still be nothing but darkness. That’s all he thought he’d ever know again; darkness and pain. The pain was concerning as well because everything hurt so badly that it was starting to become almost normal, like a constant headache. Every beat of his heart made his body ache and he willed it to stop and let this end.

He had no idea how long he had been imprisoned and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to. He imagined his roommate, Clyde, the closest thing he ever had to family, wondering where he had gone off too. He pictured Clyde sitting in the kitchen of their shitty little apartment, watching the clock as one day turned into two, pulling at his brown, cow-lick ridden hair, making it truly wild. When days stretched into a week, Clyde might have wondered if his plan to seduce the blonde guard worked, he might have imagined Craig sitting in a nice warm house, laughing with the Jew King and plotting their revenge on the Mayor. But then, he would’ve started hearing the whispers about an imprisoned traitor and seen the planned execution. Clyde would know he failed.

He said a silent prayer for his best friend even though neither of them had believed in God in a very long time. Not since he before. He still had vague, fuzzy memories of sitting in the pews furthest back from the altar, Clyde’s birth givers and Craig’s birth givers sat straight, their younger sisters huddled togethering, whispering behind their prayer books. Craig and Clyde would trade jokes and laughter, trying their best to look devout whenever a birth giver turned to give them a look if they got too rambunctious. He remembered racing Clyde to the car after mass, fighting for a window seat on the short trip to the Village Inn and the taste of the blueberry pancakes he always ordered. Clyde would get chocolate chip and their woman birth givers would scold them for drowning their breakfast in sugary maple syrup. Craig’s stomach let out a protest from the memory and he scrunched his swollen eyelids shut, trying to will the memory away. He wanted those thoughts of the Before Time to bleed out his mind like the blood oozed from his body.

That seemed to be all he thought of in this prison was the Before Time. Every time he closed his eyes, pictures of sitting in desks at school, ice skating on Stark’s Pond, playing in his friend’s backyard and even, holding a boy’s hand played on the back of his eyelids like a bad slideshow. The memories were often frustrating because some were so blurred around the edges that entire pieces of them were gone. He remembered that the Mayor had been friends with the leaders of the other side, but couldn’t remember their names, he remembered that he had birth givers, but couldn’t think of what their voices sounded like. He knew he a boyfriend that made his stomach jump and he loved holding his hand, but didn’t know who he was. He thought about him a lot right after the birth givers were banished. His memories always fell short at whether he defected or was sacrificed in the early days at Carousel or simply perished like so many others.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably the word; Carousel was an even darker period of time in their town. It’s what created the two factions. After the Birth Givers were gone, the Mayor was convinced that the statue in the old cemetery could help them and he named it, The Provider. This was before he was officially the Mayor and he and his friends ruled their harmonious town. Things had been good then, as good as they were ever going to get for Smiley Town. But then their leaders began to disagree about how to worship their provider. The Mayor thought the Provider demanded blood and began sacrificing their citizens at Carousel. Craig shivered and barred the thoughts from his memories.

Whatever had happened to the boy with blue eyes that always held his hand, he hoped he was in a better place than Craig was right now.

~~~~

Clyde liked to think the times he had lived through had toughened him up remarkably. He remembered as a child, constantly crying when things didn’t go his way, as wailing loudly in protest if something upset him. If he followed that policy now, he would never stop crying. He hadn’t let himself cry in a very long time. Not when his male birth giver left, not when his younger sister was sacrificed at Carousel, not when he basically became a slave to the Mayor.

He went about his day like a man, suffering through the back-breaking labor in the fields, never shedding a tear when his hands cracked and bleed or his back blistered red in the sun. He tried instead to focus on the minimal positivity in his life, making his roommate, and honorary brother, Craig, constantly scowl at him. He would roll his eyes and complain about him being a “Goddamned Optimist” but Clyde knew they needed each other. Their positives and negatives balanced them out nicely and Clyde never would have stopped crying if they didn’t have each other.

They had built a nice little life together, or at least, Clyde thought it was nice. Craig liked to pretend he hated it but he knew that Craig liked it well enough on some level. Craig’s job was easier, he tended a stall in the market and often was picked for civil duties like walking near the border. His job often allowed him to be home before the street lamps were lit and he would scrounge their meager rations to have something that resembled dinner on their makeshift table when Clyde dragged his tired body through the door. The two would spend the night either talking, Craig would sometimes read aloud a book he had traded for or borrowed and sometimes they were both so physically exhausted they curled up for warmth in their consistently freezing apartment and listened to each other’s heartbeats as they found some form of restful sleep.

It was never like _that_ when they were in their apartment alone; a while ago they had shared a few kisses, testing the waters and Clyde had thought they were nice kisses but he knew that they weren’t the ones Craig wanted. Clyde himself wasn’t exactly gay but he loved Craig enough that if that’s what would make him smile, he would do it. Craig never really smiled in the Before Time but he was at least happy then. Clyde just wanted Craig to be happy.

He remembered when Craig had his boyfriend back in the Before Time. The name was on the tip of his tongue, and he knew if he ever saw him or a picture he would remember. He wondered if Craig remembered; he had brought it up once but the look on his face had shut him up so quickly he bit his tongue. He hated making Craig sad.

He himself did have somebody that he liked in that way that made his stomach flip. Often times he went to the market without a dime in his pocket just so he could stare at her. Bebe’s stall was mildly popular, being the only thing close to an apothecary in their town but her malady remedies never quite worked as well as she claimed they did. He almost looked forward to feeling ill though, just to go ask her advice and spend his bare-bones savings on a treatment that more often than not just made him shit his brains out instead of healing him. Craig would roll his eyes whenever he found a bottle of Bebe’s potions and scolded him for throwing away his money on what he called “Ass Poison.” Clyde secretly agreed but always went back to Bebe to tell her that he had never felt better. He just liked watching her pretty blue eyes light up and she’d hug him tight. He was always too nervous to make a move though, despite Craig’s insistence because he was afraid if he did that then he’d have to marry her and move in and reproduce and as much as he liked the idea he knew Bebe wouldn’t take kindly to Craig living with them. As much as he liked Bebe, he loved Craig more and anything that required losing him wasn’t worth it. He had a feeling Craig knew why he never tried to court Bebe but he never said anything.

Another part of him felt badly because Craig did like guys and that just wasn’t something that was allowed here. The Mayor had a strict “No Queer-mo” policy in place and anybody who was accused of being a ‘Fag’ would be put to death. Clyde’s insides always burned at the thought because even though the Mayor had a haram of women, there was always the errant rumor that the scary guard, Butters, was involved with him as well. A lot of things the Mayor did made Clyde’s inside burn though and he didn’t like thinking about it because he’d never stop crying if he did.

The first time Clyde cried again since the Before was when he Craig didn’t come home. He had found out about Craig’s plan and had begged him to stop; he knew that it would never work and more than likely he would die, or worse. But Craig was stubborn and when he didn’t come home he knew right away his favorite person in the world was gone. He laid in bed for a full day and didn’t stop. He didn’t care when he was beaten by the guards sent to his house for not showing up to work and completely ignored Bebe when she came to bring him a healing salve, never saying a word when she rubbed the cream that made his skin burn over the cuts. She wasn’t upset by this though and just kissed his cheek before tucking him in. It was in the fields the next day that he heard the whispers: a defector had been captured and was being interrogated, suspected of being a spy. Craig was alive. Clyde knew he had to come up with a plan and hoped he would be quick enough to save Craig’s life otherwise he didn’t have much of one left himself.


	7. When the Cards All Fall

Wendy Testaburger was known for being a winner. Even in the Long, Long Ago, Wendy always succeeded well above everybody else her age. She was class president, leader of every club, and head of every friend group. She sold the most Girl Scout cookies, got the best grades on everything, and had the cutest boyfriend in their grade. Wendy Testaburger was not a loser, she never had been and she never would be.

 

She supposes that’s how she found her situation she was in today. She was the matriarch of a post-apocalyptic utopian society and still viewed everything as a competition. She wove the most blankets, cooked the best food, and did the most for their village, always putting on a humble air during meetings or seminars because if she wasn’t well liked she wasn’t really winning. She was married to the leader of the village and lived in the nicest house with the cutest daughter but still, it wasn’t enough for her. She recalled something her own mother had once said to her in the Before Times: “It’s never enough for you to just have one thing; you have to have it all.” Wendy agreed, she did have to have it all.

 

She was tired of never being taken seriously by Stan about her ideas for their village, sick of being asked to cook for a meeting instead of being asked questions about her opinions. She was a woman, not a slave, she always thought to herself. The Wendy in the Before Time would have stormed into the meeting, demanded to be given respect and listened to. But the boys would not have listened then, just like they didn’t listen now. So instead of giving into the brashness that her inner child begged for, she made plans, bigger and better than anything Stan and Kyle could have ever dreamed of.

 

 _Kyle_. Just the name made her skin crawl. When she married Stan, she assumed she was going to become something of a co-leader of his, or at least seen as an equal in his rankings. She didn’t think she would still be second-banana to his goddamned butt buddy. She should have known better though, she had always been second to Kyle, and she knew she always would be. Stan would never give her the respect and attention she deserved as long as Kyle was around. Just looking at him brought back memories from her childhood of trying to build a connection, a friendship of sorts with her boyfriend, and always being shot down in favor of Kyle. She could have given Stan a whole damn army, but as long as he had Kyle at his side, Stan was always ready to fight. The only thing that made her angrier than not being taken seriously by men, was Kyle Broflovski.

 

Thankfully, her plans included exterminating that pest as well because she didn’t have time to deal with him in her future. She supposed her views towards Kyle were calloused but she had no sympathy for him. She knew he had none for her either. They had always had a strange rivalry between them, dancing around each other and testing the limits. It was the only competition Wendy ever lost; who could win more of Stan’s attention that day? Who could make him happiest? Who would he rather have at his side? Wendy was something of a sore loser, though, some might even label it as vengeful but didn’t bother her. Her father always used to tell her that the ends would justify the means in any situation and as long as she knew she would be successful, stepping on people, or more like crushing in Kyle’s case, was more than acceptable. She just had to make sure she would win.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cartman sat at his desk with his feet up on it, eating a packet of Twizzlers and drawing gory stick figure pictures of Craig’s execution. He had scheduled it in five days, mostly to have quality Friday night entertainment and partly because he wanted to let him sit and suffer. He was sending the town “doctor” or hippie dipshit as Cartman liked to call her, to check on him and make sure he wouldn’t die before he was allowed to. He sent Bebe instead of a real doctor because that tree-lover would keep him on the verge of death without actually letting him die, giving him her stupid herbs and hippie teas that would help in the short-term while making his stomach a toxic wasteland. Cartman was a genius, or so everyone else told him; he just knew he did what needed to be done.

        He gave a sigh as he penciled in blood dripping off of Stick Figure Craig while he hung in the Town Center, overlooked by the mighty and noble Mayor. Just thinking of him and Craig as children made his blood hot; Craig always had to one-up him. Craig was always an inch taller, always a grade better, always one step in front of Cartman and his friends. He had hated Craig and his stupid gang. He mostly had forgotten about their miserable existences while he was busy running a supreme empire but the re-emergence of their presence and the reminder that Craig and his friends would always be a thorn in his side made him thirsty for their blood. He couldn’t do much about Tweek and Token while they worked for the Devil’s side and Jimmy and Jason had been sacrificed so long ago Cartman could barely remember what the sweet waters of their tears tasted like. But Clyde and Craig were still here, living under his merciful rule and testing his generosity and patience for the last time. Soon Craig would be out of the picture and that just left him with Clyde. That cry baby would probably off himself once his precious butt-buddy was gone but he still had a backup plan just in case.

 

       A timid knock at the door interrupted his musings and he grunted in annoyance before kicking his feet off his desk and sitting up straighter.

 

“What?” he demanded.

 

“Uh, sir?” a mousy young girl he had fucked her first week on the job stuck her head in, practically quaking in his powerful presence. “I’m so sorry to disturb your precious time, but you have a visitor.”

 

“What kind of visitor?” he drawled in boredom.

 

“A special kind?” she whispered unsurely.

 

Cartman’s face broke into a smug grin that made the girl’s trembling intensify. He waved a hand to signal that he could send this special visitor in before leaning back into his chair.

 

His visitor entered and he made a point of loosening his belt buckle before patting his lap so this visitor could have the best seat in the room.

 

Once his arms were full, he captured their lips into a kiss and pulled back to give them his signature smirk.

 

“You got the night off?” he asked sardonically.

 

“For you,” they replied.

 

“I wonder why?” he asked rhetorically before passionately embracing them again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After they completed their usual ritual of christening Cartman’s office and the room smelled strongly of sex and sweat, they were entangled on the plush leather sofa in front of the fire place. Cartman typically wasn’t a smoker but they always enjoyed a cigarette together after their sessions and it made the environment even more sensual.

“I have new information.”

 

Cartman’s head lolled to the side locking eyes and feeling a shred of annoyance at work being brought into his post-coital daze. He had demanded that it hadn’t be done a thousand times but they still always needed reminding. Typical, he thought with an eyeroll before stubbing out his cigarette to sit up straight and stretch.

 

“Shocker,” he snipped sarcastically and reached for his pants.

 

“Well it’s not like I came all this way just for pleasure.”

 

“Typical, Jew, just interested in talking about business,” Cartman griped shaking his head in annoyance.

 

“Fine, I’ll just take my information and my ass and leave,” Kyle argued back and stood up to presumably retrieve his clothes. Cartman marveled in the way the fire’s light caught the different contours of his body; he was fucking perfect and it never stopped pissing him off.

 

“No,” Cartman commanded and Kyle turned to give him the infuriatingly adorable stubborn glare.

 

“I’m not one of your ‘loyal subjects’, Fat Ass,” Kyle seethed while ripping on his clothes. “I don’t have to take anything from you and I sure as hell don’t have to help you.”

 

“I know, I know,” Cartman huffed, still in a sex fog, “I’m sorry, it’s been a long week.”

 

Kyle seemed a little steam after hearing his apology and left his shirt hanging open, the reflection of the flames dancing on his hipbones in a way that made Cartman want to lick them.

 

“Come here,” Cartman leaned back into the cushions and opened his arms, waiting for his little ginger to climb into them. He did so, and tucked his face into Cartman’s remarkably slimmed neck; he wasn’t the fat little kid he had once been, toning up quite a bit over the years. He knew Kyle ate that shit up. “What’s the astounding information you’re bringing me this week, my valiant hero?”

 

He felt the smile spread across his skin, invoking one from Cartman too and Kyle sat up straight looking slightly more relaxed but serious at the same time.

 

“I think Tweek bought it,” Kyle mused, eyes closing as Cartman played with the soft red curls at the back of his neck.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, he asked for time off two nights ago and claimed he was sick but intel told me he was skulking near the border. I would presume he was looking for Craig?” Kyle’s eyes were closed as Cartman continued his soothing ministrations.

 

“Fucking idiot,” Cartman scoffed, “Those two have half a brain between them. They seriously thought nobody would catch onto what was happening, and they don’t even know it was all fake.”

 

“Well, with Tweek distracted it’s been easier getting around. Stan is on high alert but he doesn’t know what for; he’ll never see it coming.”

 

“Good; he’ll get everything that’s been coming to him,” Cartman grumbled darkly, fingers tightening in the back of Kyle’s hair and making him whine before pulling away.

 

“Well we just have to have some patience now,” Kyle smiled cheekily. “I think I know a way we can pass the time.”

 

Cartman’s face grew smug again because he definitely liked that plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys I'm sorry this took longer than usual, I've been beyond swamped with college and life. It would have been done yesterday but consuming anxiety over the election and complete disbelief over the results was a little distracting. (Other side note: I lowkey started a Creek Band Fic, Reality TV gameshow Creek Fic and a Creek Thanksgiving one-shot, which one should I post first??)


	8. Everything Is Not What It Seems

tan Marsh had always been a natural leader. It was just a part of who he was; like having black hair or crooked teeth. He was born to be in charge. Still, he wished that he was different, like Kyle, who was smart and strong, but still had the ability to command a situation, or Wendy, who supported this town through sheer talent and good will. But all of that was for naught without a person to lead them to success.

Stan stood near the stage after the Re-telling, holding Sharon tightly to his chest, cradling her tiny body and protecting her from unknown threats. He couldn’t place a finger on it, but lately, a tantalizing sense of unease had been growing in his chest. It made him tense and angry, making him distrust even his most loyal comrades, like Tweek and snapping at Wendy over the tiniest transgressions.

Wendy broke away from the conversation she was having with a group of Sixth Grader women she had been having across the square. The thought made his mouth quirk; those women hadn’t been sixth grade aged in a while. They were closer to village ‘Elders’ now. He watched his beautiful wife cross the square, touching arms and handing out warm smiles like fresh baked bread. She had such a magical aura about her that never failed to captivate Stan. He prayed to Provider that their daughter would grow up to have her mother’s charm.

Wendy finally managed to make it back over to them and softened her smile at her tiny family. Stan held out his free arm and she tucked herself underneath it, reaching up on tiptoes to press a fluttering kiss into the side of his neck. Stan closed his eyes and allowed the sweetness of the moment to ease his current state of anxiety.

“I could see you thinking all the way from across the square,” Wendy murmured softly into his ear.

“Was I that obvious?” Stan worried, brow creasing as he looked down at his wife. If people thought he was worried, then they would worry and their society would collapse into chaos and—

“Now you are,” Wendy teased, reaching up a soft hand to physically smooth out the folds in her husband’s prematurely creased face. “I can read you like the stars, Stanley.”

Stan knew she was right. Nothing ever got past Wendy. She could sense an illness in him before he could. She knew the moment Sharon was conceived. She could tell the second something was awry in their tiny town. She really was amazing. Stan smiled back down at her again, melting into her soft touch.

“And I can read my baby like a book, and she’s going to be a little Kindergartener in the next five minutes if she doesn’t get some milk in her mouth.” Wendy held her arms out and Stan sadly passed the baby back over to her. He always felt guilty, like he wasn’t spending enough time with his daughter; always too preoccupied with his responsibilities. He also loved how much she took after him and was proud to show her off to his people.

Wendy stepped away for privacy while she nursed the baby and the second she was gone, people were approaching him to ask questions. He tried to maintain a consistently positive, encouraging attitude as he answered the same questions that rolled through his own mind on a daily basis.

“How much food do we have for the winter?”

“How safe are we at the moment?”

“Is disease going around?”

“There’s a problem with . . .”

Stan didn’t begrudge his people though. They had a right to ask their leader questions regarding their wellbeing. So he put on his best ‘confidence’ voice and answered every question thrown his way, trying his best not to let the toxic thoughts of wishing life had lead him down a different path creep in.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tweek was insane. No, he wasn’t insane, he was stupid. Maybe he was just stupid and insane? Focus. He needed to focus right now. If he messed this up, he was really going to be in for it.

Tweek stuck to the shadows, seamlessly blending into the contours and grooves of the darkened edges on buildings. It was his second night of feigning illness, and instead of waiting by the border again, he was going to enact phase two of his incredibly idiotic plan. He feet carried him quickly and stealthily through the streets of his beloved town and he said a silent apology to all of the people who’s trust he was betraying. Not only was he leaving their protection in the hands of an inadequate buffoon, but he was lying and sneaking, and breaking and entering and . . .

The list of his sins made his heart race and his hands shake. He tried to shut his thoughts up and focus on the task at hand. He needed to focus.

Finally, he reached the home he was looking for and stopped across the street to survey the situation. He couldn’t help the feeling that someone was watching him, but then again, he had always felt like that, even in the Long, Long Ago. He physically shook out all of his jitters and anxiety and prepared himself mentally for the task he was about to complete with a big, deep breath.

Focus.

He slunk across the street and peered through the cracks in the shoddily repaired window of the house. The lights were out and Tweek had hope that nobody was home. The door was open, because they had no need for locks within their community. Everybody trusted one another. That thought made Tweek feel even guiltier as he broke the moral code of their town and entered the home.

So many people trusted him and he was letting them all down for something he couldn’t even place a finger on. Why was this boy so important to him? Important enough to lie to his family and betray the trust of his community? Was it worth everything he had?

Apparently it was, because here he was breaking into one of his best friend’s houses to look for information on a virtual stranger.

Tweek closed the door gently behind him, before hurrying towards the stairs. If he ran into anybody here, he’d just claim he was stopping by for a visit and looking to see if anybody was home. Tweek had a feeling that wasn’t very plausible considering a normal person would knock on the door, but Tweek hoped his deviance from normality would play in his favor here. He made it to the room upstairs that he was looking for without running into anybody and that’s when he encountered his first lock in Provider knows how many years.

The feeling of the jarred handle triggered memories of the Before Time in Tweek and he recalled always being reminded to lock the door; when he went to bed, when he came home, when he went to the bathroom. Their society had been bigger and deadlier then. He remembered an incident vividly where his Birth Givers had tricked him into never opening a locked door unless it was for them, and the thought made his palms sweat. Why was this door locked? Why would Kyle have a door in his house locked? Was he hiding something?

His face was scrunched in confusion and he turned to walk back down the stairs, pondering the meaning of it all when a heavy blow landed on the back of his head. White hot pain exploded through his skull and he gasped into the carpet of the floor he had faceplanted into. Before he had time to regain his senses and turn around to defend himself, another blow came, harder than the last, stealing his consciousness from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Stan was awake late at night, again. He always found the Autumnal Equinox affected his sleeping patterns the worst, whether it be from worry and stress or the altered days and nights, he couldn’t tell. He stood facing the window that overlooked the town and sighed heavily, rubbing at his tired eyes.

His repetitive thoughts were interrupted by the soft cry of a baby, muffled by distance and Stan walked back into his bedroom. Wendy was sleepily pulling herself out of bed to shuffle over to the cot near the fireplace, but Stan place a hand on her back. He kissed her forehead and assured her to go back to sleep.

“I think she needs a new diaper,” Wendy mumbled, snuggling back down into the blankets and shutting her eyes again. “There’s a bunch of clean ones downstairs.”

“Got it,” Stan replied and went to pick his daughter up. Sure enough, the cloth covering her bottom was soaked and Stan carried her downstairs to where Wendy kept the changing station, bouncing his daughter in the hopes it might quell the screams. He knew from experience though that nothing would calm her except for a clean cloth on her butt.

It was remarkable to see the shift in personality once the dirty diaper was gone. Her bright brown eyes shone as she waved chubby fists and Stan smiled down at his baby girl. Her arms and legs batted at empty air as he strapped on a new diaper and picked her back up. He had just finished putting the dirty diaper in the basket when there was a frenzied knock at the door.

He didn’t even have time to cross the room and open the door when Kyle burst in, eyes wide in panic and curls bouncing like he had spent the walk over tugging them by the roots.

“Kyle?” Stan froze and Sharon gurgled in his arms.

“Stan! We have a problem, dude. A big one.” Kyle’s eyes were wide and fearful and Stan held his daughter closer to his chest, like this big problem was going to storm into his house and rip her from his arms.

“What happened?”

“Tweek defected.” Kyle’s voice wobbled as he said it, tears brimming in his jade eyes.

“What?” Stan hissed and he felt weak.

Behind him, he heard a soft gasp and whipped around to see Wendy at the top of the stairs. Her robe was tied haphazardly and he hair was thinly being contained by a headband. Her hand was covering her mouth and her eyes were wider than Kyle’s.

She was down the stairs before he could fully process her even appearing and was standing in front of Kyle, her face set in hard stone.

“How do you know this?” she questioned and Stan was confused by the suspicion in her voice. He was just as upset about the situation, but he trusted that if Kyle was saying it, than it must be true.

“The lookout caught him sneaking over the border into Smiley Town,” Kyle ignored Wendy’s harsh stare and focused his sad eyes onto Stan, shoulders sagging under the weight of the information. “I’m sorry we didn’t say anything sooner, Stan, but we’ve been watching him for a couple of days now. I just didn’t want to worry you or add any unnecessary stress with the new baby and—”

“How was he acting suspicious?” Wendy asked with that sharp edge again and Kyle’s voice sounded slightly more tense when he replied to solely to Stan, again.

“Some of the other guards had picked up on strange behaviors and began watching him during his shifts,” Kyle’s face darkened. “We think he was colluding with a member of Smiley Town’s intelligence faction.”

“Intelligence faction?” Stan repeated dumbly, feeling cold dread settling into his bones.

“Specifically,” Kyle’s eyes glinted, “Craig Tucker.”

“Craig?” Wendy asked, seeming genuinely stunned like Stan was.

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?” Stan asked, desperate to see Tweek and ask him what had gone wrong.

Kyle sighed and ran a hand through thick red curls, slumping over to flop onto his couch and put his head into his hands.

“He was captured by Smiley Town officials almost immediately and we believe he’s being detained at the old police station,” Kyle’s troubled voice was muffled but Stan still heard him loud and clear.

“How are we going to get him back?” Wendy worried, turning to face Stan.

“Get him back?” Kyle’s head snapped up, eyes hard. “Wendy, you can’t be serious right now.”

“What?” she turned to face him, expression steely. “He is a member of this community and he has been captured by the enemy, so I reiterate, how are we going to get him back?”

Stan’s head was whipping back and forth between the two like it was a tennis match and he knew he should step in and de-escalate the situation but he was so numbed by the information he couldn’t will himself to speak.

“He is a traitor, that abandoned our family and went over their voluntarily, Wendy!” Kyle was on his feet again, voice rumbling through their home.

“You don’t know that! You just assumed all of this based on information given to you by other people, but did you ever bother to go and talk to him yourself, Kyle?!” Wendy retorted hotly.

Sharon began to whimper in Stan’s arms and he rocked her, opening up his mouth to speak finally, but getting cut off by his best friend.

“Stan did and he lied right to his face! He’s a liar, Wendy, and he can’t be trusted!” Kyle was getting closer and closer to Wendy, spitting every word with more venom. “

“Funny how those things happen, isn’t it? It’s always the ones you trust the most, right?”

Stan was stunned. He would have expected Wendy to scream back or stomp away or even hit him, but this icy calm was freaking him out. It seemed to throw Kyle off too, because instead of looming over her screaming, his face contorted into confusion and he stumbled a step backwards like she had pushed him.

“Are you okay, Wends?” Stan asked, walking up to put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she replied briskly, talking the fussing baby from his arms and disappearing back up the stairs.

“What was that about?” Stan turned to ask Kyle who was already halfway out the door.

“I dunno, she’s probably just freaked out about this Tweek thing,” he muttered halfway to him and halfway to himself. “Sorry to bother you guys. Night, Stan.”

Then Stan was standing in his living room alone wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now.


	9. One Track Mind

“Clyde! CLYDE!!”

Clyde’s eyes bolted open and he sat up in bed, heart pounding in his chest. His vision struggled to connect to his brain as he comprehended who was standing next to him, shaking him roughly. Finally, he adjusted in the darkness.

“Bebe?” his sleep-thick voice grumbled.

“Clyde!” she cried again, this time with less alarm and more agony. His mind was still struggling to keep up as Bebe practically crumpled on top of him. Her shoulders shook and he could feel wetness dripping onto his bare skin as she sobbed unabashedly into his chest.

“What happened?” he asked, arms numbly wrapping around Bebe. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t respond though, and for several minutes, the pair sat in their grief-stricken embrace. As Clyde’s consciousness fully returned, his mind began to wander through all of the possibilities that could lead to Bebe coming to cry in his arms in the middle of the night. All of them lead back to the same place. With a lump in his own throat, Clyde pushed the thoughts away.

Finally, still shaking and bursting at the brim with tears, Bebe sat up to look him in the eyes. Clyde knew he wasn’t dreaming now, because in his dreams, Bebe was always her happy, glowing self. The girl in front of him wasn’t happy or glowing. _Maybe this was a nightmare_ , he thought.

Hesitantly, like he was approaching a timid animal, Clyde reached out a hand to brush a few of the tears off of her cheeks. Her swollen eyes closed and she nuzzled into the embrace, bringing up her tiny, soft hands to hold him against her cheek.

Clyde had always imagined Bebe would have soft, pretty hands, but this exceeded his expectations. They felt like the finest of silk; like she had never worked a day in her life. Clyde suddenly felt embarrassed and self-conscious about his own hands. They were rough and ugly. His hands were covered in scars and callouses from long days working in the fields. They were too dirty to be touching something as beautiful and delicate as Bebe. As he tried to pull his hand away, her surprisingly firm grip tightened and her brow furrowed deeply. Clyde ignored the flutter in his heart and fought off the urge to smile. This wasn’t the time for his stupid feelings; this was about Bebe and whatever was hurting her.

Her eyes opened and so did her mouth, words falling out and tears dripping down her cheeks as the sentences burned his mind. She spoke and he listened, but every word she said took him farther and farther away. By the time she had finished, Clyde was in a different world.

He wondered numbly if this was some self-soothing coping mechanism, but decided very firmly that he didn’t care. In this universe, there was happiness. So much happiness, that nobody knew what to do with themselves because they were so goddamned happy all the time. Clyde and Bebe held hands and went on dates and kissed goodnight before going to bed every night. He went over to Craig’s house and the two best friends watched sports on the couch with smiles on their faces. He had people he could call and talk to for advice like when the best time to ask Bebe to marry him was or how to stop a leaking sink. He went over there for dinner and knew those people would always be there to keep him safe. He had parents. Nothing bad had ever happened, and nobody was ever in pain. It wasn’t a perfect world, but it was a happy one.

Clyde wasn’t quite sure how long he sat staring blankly at Bebe, wrapped up in things he would never have. He knew he should have said something, anything, really. He just didn’t have the words.

Bebe sat with him for a long time, waiting for him to speak. She curled up next to him on his bed, in Craig’s spot, holding tightly onto his arm, her head resting against his bicep. Finally, after an eternity of silence, he let out a shuddering breath.

“‘ _Craig is dead_ ,’” he repeated numbly to himself.

Finally, he cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain.

Blinding, horrifying, excruciating amounts of pain.

The time, the place, their identity; none of it mattered. No other thoughts could penetrate through the pain.

“Hurts,” a hoarse whisper, that ached like dragging rusty razor blades up the throat. “Bad.”

Fingernails scraped across dirty stone, scrambling for purchase, but for what reason was unknown. _If I could just get a grip on something, I could get a grip on the pain . . ._

“You learn to think around it.”

A garbled voice echoed and it was something to grab on to. It allowed a focus away from the pain, and they clung to it. _Speak again, please . . ._

But there was silence again.

“ _Please_ ,” the aching whisper begged.

“I’m sorry.”

The voice was strange, thick and swollen. Focusing on nothing but that voice, Tweek wrenched a throbbing eye open.

His vision darted around wildly in the darkness. He was terrified for a moment that he had lost vision in his other eye as well, unable to see an inch in front of him. Eventually, the darkness became enough for him to see.

First, he saw his hand, laying on the ground in front of his face. But it didn’t look like a hand. It was the color of dirt, thickly crusted in what he could only assume to be blood, and swollen to double it’s normal size. Numbly, he realized that he was missing his middle and ring finger. He tried to move the supposed hand and hissed at the action.

“Don’t. Your wrist is broken.”

That voice. Tweek’s eye roamed the room, searching for the disembodied voice, trying to give it an owner. He almost wished he hadn’t even opened his eye when he did, though. Grotesque was the tamest thing Tweek could think of to describe the other person in the room with him. Monstrous was meanest.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” they asked.

Tweek understood why their voice was so distorted now, and seeing swollen, bruised flesh contorting into speech made his stomach roll. He closed his eye again and waited for the pain to go away.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he could think properly again. The days and nights had no meaning in this hell hole. It took him a long time to muster up the courage to re-open his eye, though, terrified of what he had seen and even more scared that he had become it as well.

Eventually, he did, and was no less horrified than the first time he had seen the other person.

“Feeling better?” the voice was less garbled, easier to understand. They were healing, just like Tweek was.

“A little,” Tweek said.

“You’re a liar, but that’s okay.”

What Tweek assumed was a smile was attempted, but was quickly dropped in favor of a pained grimace.

“Where are we?” Tweek whimpered.

“Prison?” the other person responded and Tweek felt like there was a hint of sarcasm.

“Why?”

“Because we broke the rules?”

“What did you do?” Tweek asked, suddenly aware that he could be sitting next to some kind of serial killing rapist.

“I killed a man.” The voice was so monotonous and sincere that Tweek’s blood ran cold, and he pulled himself into an agonizing sitting position.

He wasn’t quite sure what he could do in this state, but hell if he was going to die now.

“That was a joke,” the person attempted another smile and Tweek slumped back onto the concrete behind him.

“That wasn’t even funny, dude,” he complained.

“Your reaction was, though.”

“Who are you?” Tweek growled, fed up.

“It doesn’t matter; I’m gonna be dead soon,” the person half-shrugged.

“It still matters, whether you’re dead or alive,” Tweek argued and the other person let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re too full of optimism; definitely from Treasure Cove,” the person retorted.

“So you’re from Smiley Town then?” Tweek questioned.

“Unfortunately.”

“Is that where we are right now?” Tweek attempted to push the conversation in a productive path.

“Unfortunately.”

“Okay, so why are we here?!” Tweek was at the end of his patience.

“Because we both broke the rules and now we’re going to die!” the other person seemed to be frustrated as well, speaking like they were explaining things to a stupid child.

_“We?!”_ Tweek shrieked.

“I’m assuming if you’re in here with me, then you’re supposed to die, too.”

“Why?! Who even are you?!” Tweek cried feeling more confused than ever.

There was a sigh and an awkward pause. Tweek expected them to spew more bullshit or give an extended monologue about their life and their backstory, never actually saying their true identity. Instead, the other person simply replied, “My name’s Craig.”

“Okay, Craig,” Tweek paused to mull the name over in his mouth, feeling a familiarity, “Why would I die because I’m in here with you right now.”

There was another deep sigh followed by more silence.

“It’s not that,” Craig began. “If I tell you the truth, will you promise not to hate me?”

~~~~~~~~~

The truth is a funny thing. Kyle knew this to be true. He paced circles around his living room, surprised when he looked down that he hadn’t worn holes in his carpet. _Yes,_ he thought, _the truth is tricky_.

What was really the truth, though?

He supposed he hadn’t really be thoroughly honest with _anybody,_ but he hadn’t necessarily told any lies. _‘A half-truth is just as bad as a lie, bubby,’_ echoed in his head and he groaned in frustration, dropping angrily onto his couch and pulling at fire-red curls.

Things had all been going so _perfectly_ , and then Wendy had to go and fuck it all up. He yelled, swinging out an arm and smashing the glass vase full of sunflowers off of his coffee table, sending it flying with a shattering, satisfying crash at the end.

_“Fuck!”_ he screamed and jumped back to his feet.

_What_ was he going to do? How was he going to fix this? She knew, he knew that she knew. Wendy Testaburger wasn’t an idiot and Kyle should have known that she would always be the thorn in his side. She always had been and she always would be.

He should have killed her when he had the chance, he thought callously. Back in the early days, when Stan was clueless and scared shitless about what to do next, Kyle had been his brain. He had could have just said the word, and she would have been sacrificed at Carousel before he could even say, “ _Provider.”_

Those had been the glory days, Kyle mourned, walking around his coffee table to drop down and pick up shards of ceramic off the carpet. He, Stan, and Cartman had been the perfect triad of leaders, blending together in a seamless harmony to create the ultimate society. Anyone that had stood in their way was crushed.

Kyle smiled softly to himself, remembering Kenny. Their eternally muffled friend had so desperately wanted to rule with them, but Kyle could practically smell the weakness in him. Cartman could too, and they had voted to sacrifice him at the next Carousel. Stan, of course, had objected, but Kyle was very good at getting his way and eventually, Stan had agreed. It was less of an agreement, and more of turning a blind eye, but it didn’t make a difference to Kenny. Kyle’s smile widened remembering that particular Carousel. It had been one of his favorites.

But then Wendy came along. She was full of ideas and propositions that were so unrealistic and appalling that it had stunned him into silence when Stan had agreed with her. He should have known, though, really. Stan was weak at heart. Kyle had always tried so hard to protect him from his own weaknesses, loving him unconditionally no matter how different their ideas were. But as much as he had tried to ignore the flaws in Stan, Wendy exacerbated them. She made him soft and kind and warm; nothing that made for a good leader, in Kyle’s opinion.

After that, Kyle and Cartman had met privately to discuss the next Carousel nomination and disagreed for the first time ever as leaders. Kyle had said Wendy. Cartman had said Stan.

It was her fault. It had always been her fault. Kyle’s hand tightened and he hissed, dropping the shard he had forgotten was in his hand. He brought the palm closer to his face, inspecting the dripping crimson as it trailed down his wrist. The sight made another smile begin to bloom. He wondered if Tweek was having fun right now.


End file.
